Never the same one, different places, different scenes, but always the same ending. Sometimes it’s something ordinary, like walking through a grocery store, until I catch her in the corner of my eye. Still and watching. Staring into my eyes as if she could burn a hole through them. Hatred poured off of her like waves on a beach and in the moment we made eye contact the dream around me quieted, and all I can focus on is the petite woman that clearly wants me dead. For a second, we only stare, that primal moment of sizing up an opponent before a fight. Then she moves and quickly, far too quick for someone in heels and a corset. The chase begins running around wherever I am until, the dream world blurs, bending and dissolving as they stretch into something else. I find myself in the same place every time: a vast, empty field of tall grass, long abandoned by the farmers who once worked it. I run. Grass whips against my legs. My lungs ache, my body heavy and heaving, but she never falters. For her, chasing me is effortless; for me, it’s a marathon inside a nightmare.
And it always ends the same way. The field starts to end and an encroaching forest comes to view but before I can reach it, a single fairy tree is before me, standing alone as though it has always been waiting. I know, somehow, that if I can reach the forest, I’ll be free. But I never make it. The moment I step foot past the tree, I’m ripped awake, drenched in sweat, chest stuttering, heart pounding as if I was running while awake. Afterwards, lying in the dark, it’s almost impossible to sleep again. My body stays wired, my mind caught on edge.
The first person I almost told about the dreams was Mitchel, my older brother. It was right after we moved to Pelk that I had the first one. Back in California, I was used to waking up in the same room as him, so when I jolted awake from the terrifying dream of the Victorian Lady chasing me across California beaches and into an empty field, the first thing I did was look for Mitchel. But he wasn’t there. In Pelk, we didn’t have to share a bedroom anymore.
The man my mom married after splitting with my dad, Garrett, had made a lot of money early on, doing some kind of work designing machines. His office was covered in framed schematics of things I couldn’t begin to understand. Whatever it was, it was enough for him to buy a big house in a wealthy part of Connecticut. The room that I got had nice large windows facing a vast forest. Mom had said she knew I was going to pick this room so she preemptively painted it a soft blue and she was right of course I did pick it. But that night, I wasn’t so happy about my choice. The windows felt too big, the forest too close.
I cracked my door and peeked down the hallway. No lights. The house was quiet and everyone was asleep. My heart still thundered from the dream as I crept toward the lip of the staircase. I didn’t know the house well yet, and in the dark every step felt like a gamble. My hand clamped the railing the second my foot found it, and I hugged the thing so tightly I ended up shuffling sideways down the steps. At the first landing, just before I could turn and head further down, I froze. Footsteps.
I snapped my head up toward the top of the stairs, already bracing myself for either the Victorian Lady or a very grumpy mom.
“What are you doing?”
I nearly gave myself whiplash spinning the other way. At the bottom of the stairs stood Mitchel. “Mitch!” I whisper-shouted, scrambling down and practically tackling him. My heart was pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
“What, are you scared of stairs now? Can’t blame you, this house is creepy.” He dropped his voice even lower on that last part, but I still caught it. He peeled my arms off him like I was some kind of human vice grip.
“Woah are you crying?” he whispered. I wasn't to be clear, I was just sweating from my nightmare, there were no tears in my eyes that night I swear.
Now that I was closer, I noticed his eyes. They were red, glassy, like he’d been crying himself.
“Mitchie, were you crying? Your eyes are all red.” I asked it without thinking, genuinely curious.
Mitchel yanked down the sunglasses that were always perched on his head, even though Connecticut was never nearly as sunny as California.
“No,” he gruffly whisper-shouted. “I wasn’t fucking crying. Why are you even awake?” He brushed past me up the stairs while muttering about how he was fifteen and not some crybaby like me.
I stayed at the bottom for a moment, confused more than anything, before remembering why I’d come down in the first place. I got my glass of water, then headed back up, this time though without clinging to the railing. Despite not telling him he did comfort me in his older brother ways.
Later, I found out the truth about what Mitchel was doing that night. Mitchel hadn’t been crying because of any type of nightmares. He’d been sneaking back from a party seniors were throwing before school started, and wanting to fit in he smoked so much weed he puked all over a “HAWT” girl (his words, not mine), and was so embarrassed he walked all the way home.
The second person I almost told about the dreams was my mother, but that requires a bit of backstory. Back in California we had been close, even after she and Dad split, but after she moved to Pelk with her boyfriend, now husband Garrett, when I was nine, we drifted. I wasn’t angry exactly about her leaving, just felt left behind. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t come.
Mitchel had made it clear in his own angry pre-teen way that he wouldn’t go and wanted nothing to do with her, arguing with Mom constantly. But I wasn’t like that. I told her I wanted to come. I even packed my room into boxes, ready to move. But Mom didn’t want to split us up, didn’t want resentment to grow between Mitchel and me, so she came up with a compromise: I would visit Pelk in the summer, just for a week.
That July, Dad put me on a plane alone. I was nine years old and terrified. I remember pacing by the windows, watching planes take off and land, when an old woman stopped beside me. She pressed a book about flowers into my hands and told me to relax. Her name was Gloria.
She’d once lived in Connecticut before moving to California to open a flower shop with her husband. Now she was returning home alone as her husband had passed. After she said that, we sat in silence. I didn’t know what to say, so I just turned the pages of the book while she stared out the window. By the time the plane finally boarded, I felt calmer from Gloria’s presence. I landed in Connecticut, in one piece.
I stepped off the plane dragging a Pokémon rolling backpack and wearing a tiny Disney bag my dad had bought on sale. Mom was waiting with a glitter-covered sign that read Hello Joey! Welcome to Connecticut with smiley stickers all over it. I still have it, tucked away on the top shelf in my closet. I ran straight to her, hugged her so hard she laughed, then fussed over me like she was trying to memorize my face. I didn’t mind. I’d missed her.
Outside, in the car loop, a sleek black car idled. Behind the wheel was Garrett. Back in California I had only met Garrett a few times even then they were short meetings. When mom and I approached the car, he rolled down the passenger side window and yelled a hello at us. Mom took my bags and put them into the popped trunk, while she did that I opened the back door and slid on the cold leather seats, and for a moment it was just the two of us, Garrett staring ahead, me staring at the seat in front of me, neither of us speaking until Mom got in and filled the silence.
On the drive, she asked about school, the flight, anything but Mitchel. His constant fights with her before she left were still too fresh. At the apartment, she showed me the guest room I’d use, then left me to unpack while she ordered pizza. That first week in Pelk was magical to me. The town felt different, alive, like it had been waiting. When the week was over, I begged to stay longer, but the flight was already paid for. So back to California I went, dreaming of the East Coast.
The next summer, tired of hearing me talk about Pelk and feeling left out, Mitchel finally agreed to come. The call that he had with mom was about two hours long but by the end of it, he had a flight booked to Pelk along with me and a bridge to repair his relationship with mom. That week Mom mostly stayed close to him, which I didn’t mind. It gave me more time to wander Pelk on my own. Garrett wasn’t around much this time, he was away on a work trip.
By the end of the trip mom and Mitchel’s relationship had mostly mended. That's also when she told us she was two months pregnant. We were shocked but also happy. Later she mailed us ultrasound pictures from Connecticut first announcing it was a girl, then, in January, sending photos of baby Molly.
The third summer, Mom wanted us to bond with Molly, so she extended our visit to two weeks. For the first time in a long time, we felt like a family again. Even Garrett was home more, and it felt natural with him there. Those weeks were chaotic, noisy, wonderful, but the apartment was too small for all five of us. Mitchel and I shared the guest room, and Garrett’s office became Molly’s nursery.
When the trip was coming to a close, Mom and Garrett told us they were buying a house in Pelk, one with more space for Molly to grow. I remember feeling a stab of jealousy that she would get to grow up here, in a real unbroken home, with both of them. But that feeling faded when Mom asked if Mitchel and I wanted to move too.
I was so excited by the question that I shot off the couch and screamed, “YES!” Mom and Mitchel both stared at me, startled, while baby Molly joined in by letting out her own tiny screech. Mom laughed, then quickly added that she hadn’t asked Dad yet, she just wanted to see how we’d feel about moving to Pelk. My excitement deflated, and I sank back onto the couch. I begged her to call Dad right then, but Mitchel cut in, reminding me the time difference was “wack.” and that dad might not pick up her call.
Mom followed up quickly, saying that she and Garrett hadn’t even gotten the house yet, and she’d talk to Dad once they did. I was a little miffed at the thought of going back to California without a real answer, but not too upset. In my head, I was already making lists of what I’d bring with me.
On the flight back, I asked Mitchel if he’d consider moving to Pelk seriously. He shrugged and said he wasn’t sure. Then he pulled down his airplane tray, swiped a napkin off mine, and declared he’d have to weigh the pros and cons. I pointed out that he didn’t have a pen, and right then a flight attendant passed by. Mitchel asked if he could borrow hers, She smiled at him and handed it over. I don’t remember everything he scribbled down, but I do remember what he put in the pros column for moving to Pelk: Mom, Joey, and Molly.
A few months later, once Mom and Garrett had secured the house and moved in, she and Dad finally had the first real serious call about Mitchel and I coming to Pelk. It was obvious to Dad that I hated California; I just never felt connected to it the way he and Mitchel did. I belonged in Pelk. Dad eventually agreed I could go, but he and Mom argued for weeks over whether Mitchel should. Both had good points: what Pelk could offer him, what staying in California would mean for his future, his friends, his stability. But underneath it all, I think Dad was scared of being alone.
In the end, after Mom and I wore him down, Dad finally asked Mitchel what he wanted. Mitchel thought about the napkin, about Mom’s arguments for Pelk and what it could hold. Then he decided. He would move to Pelk with me.
The day finally came when Mitchel and I were flying out of California for good. Dad drove us to the airport early that morning. The car ride was quiet except for the radio humming faintly, some old rock station Dad always had on. I sat in the back, staring out the window as the city blurred past. It felt strange, knowing this wasn’t just another summer trip. This time we weren’t coming back.
Dad tried to make conversation here and there, asking if we packed everything, if we had our boarding passes but mostly it was silence. I think he was trying to keep it together.
When we got to the airport, he helped us unload our bags. My Pokémon rolling backpack was stuffed full, and Mitchel had his duffel slung over one shoulder like he was heading to practice. Dad carried everything inside anyway, insisting, like he always did, even though we told him we could handle it.
At the gate, the reality of it all finally hit. Dad stood there shifting his weight from one foot to the other, glancing around like he was looking for something to say.
“You boys listen to your mom, okay?” he said finally, his voice low. “And Garrett too. Just… don’t give her a hard time.”
Mitchel smirked and said, “When do I ever give Mom a hard time?” which made Dad laugh, but it was the kind of laugh that sounded more like a sigh.
Then Dad pulled me into a hug first, holding on tighter than usual. “I’ll miss you, bud,” he murmured, ruffling my hair before letting go. When he hugged Mitchel, it was quick but firm, like he was afraid if he held on too long he wouldn’t let go at all.
“You’ll call me?” Dad asked, looking between us.
“Yeah,” Mitchel said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “We’ll call.”
The boarding announcement came, and it was time. We handed over our tickets to the lady by the gate, and as we started down the jetway, I turned back one last time. Dad was still standing there, watching us, one hand raised in a half-wave. For a second, I thought he looked smaller than I’d ever seen him before.
I raised my hand back until the crowd pushed us forward, and then he was gone.
Mitchel and I found our seats somewhere in the middle of the plane. He claimed the aisle before I could even say anything, leaving me by the window. I didn’t mind. I pressed my forehead to the glass, watching the jetway pull back and the ground crew scurry around in their vests.
For a while, neither of us spoke. The engines started their low growl, and my stomach twisted the way it always did before takeoff. I thought about Dad, probably already walking back through the airport parking lot, and I felt this weird mix of relief and guilt.
“You’re not gonna cry, are you?” Mitchel asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
“No,” I shot back too fast.
He grinned like he didn’t believe me and pulled out his phone. “Good. ‘Cause if you start, people are gonna think I said something to you.”
I rolled my eyes and turned back to the window, but when the plane began lifting off, my fingers curled tight around the armrest. I had been on planes so much these past few years but for some reason on the trip I was extra nervous. Mitchel noticed, and without saying anything, he slid one of the tiny peanut bags from the seat pocket and plopped it in my lap.
“For you if you survive,” he said.
I laughed, a short shaky sound, but it helped. Mitchel had his own way of comforting people without saying it outright, Dad was the same.
The plane tilted upward, the engines roaring, and the world outside the window fell away, the city, the highways, even Dad somewhere below shrinking into blobs of colour. My chest felt heavy, but lighter at the same time.
When we leveled out, Mitchel stretched his legs into the aisle and leaned back, already acting like he owned the place. “So,” he said, “are you ready for Pelk?”
“Definitely,” I answered, tearing open the peanut bag. But I was still hesitant, what if it's different from the summer trips? What if i dont make any friends? So many what if’s and questions swam around in my head. “Well mostly”
Mitchel laughed “Well you better get ready”
For the first time all morning, it felt less like leaving and more like arriving.
When we landed, it was kind of chaotic. Trying to push through the crowd with most of our earthly possessions in tow. Even though we’d shipped a lot ahead, including anything fragile, Mitchel insisted on carrying his skateboard as his personal item. He was convinced it would either break or get stolen if it went with the rest of the luggage by mail, so there he was, striding through the airport with a skateboard tucked under one arm and his duffel slung over the other shoulder like some traveling street performer.
After weaving through the sea of people, we finally spotted Mom. She was standing there with Molly on her hip, waving frantically with one hand and using the other to help Molly wave too. We pushed toward her, said our hellos, and let her smother us in hugs before heading out toward the car loop where Garrett was parked.
Since Molly’s arrival, Garrett had traded his sleek black car for a big SUV. The kind of vehicle that said “family man” whether he wanted it to or not. Mom opened the back door to settle Molly into her car seat, while Mitchel and I circled around to the trunk with our bags.
Once we were in and buckled, the SUV rolled away from the airport. I watched out the window as the high-traffic roads curved and gave way to smaller roads lined with tall trees. We passed by the sign announcing our arrival “Welcome To Pelk” and in small cursive below that said “Timelessly Charming”. Mitchel leaned his forehead against the glass, tapping his fingers against the skateboard balanced across his knees. Mom turned in her seat every so often, trying to catch pieces of stories about the flight, but Molly’s squeals and babbles kept pulling her attention back.
The further we drove, the more it started to feel different from California, not just the weather or the trees, but the air itself. It smelled green, almost sharp, like the whole place had just been rinsed off by rain. I pressed my face to the window, staring out at the houses that flashed past, wondering which one would be ours.
Soon though, we moved out of the neighborhood and began driving through the downtown and main street. Mitchel piped up, asking, “Going the scenic route, Garrett?” in a light joking tone. Garrett let out a laugh and said, “Might as well, builds up the tension,” and then laughed a little more at his own joke. Mitchel chuckled and answered in a sarcastic tone, “Well, I am truly on the edge of my seat.” Mom turned around just enough to send him a look, but I kept my eyes glued to the window. The truth was, I really was on the edge of my seat. Nervous? Absolutely but ready to start my new life in Pelk.
After the scenic route wound down, we found ourselves on a long road lined with trees, this time more secluded, the kind of stretch where the world felt hushed. Eventually, Garrett slowed the car as we came to a real fork in the road, turning us down the right-hand side. My heart started thudding, and then, through the break in the trees, a house began to come into view.
My jaw honestly dropped, and before I could stop myself, I let out a small awh sound. Mom twisted around in her seat with a grin and said, “Ready to see your new home?” Mitchel tried to play it cool, shrugging like it was nothing, but I noticed the way he adjusted his skateboard like it mattered that he was holding it for this moment.
We pulled up to a large Victorian home, the kind that looked like it had been sitting there for a hundred years waiting for someone to tell its story, and I wanted to discover it. The roof pitched high and sharp, with a tower-like corner that made it feel a little like a castle at least to me. The windows were tall and narrow, framed with dark green shutters, and there was a wraparound porch that practically begged to be sat on with a blanket and hot chocolate to experience my first New England winter. The house was painted a pale gray-green, and the whole house seemed tucked into the landscape.
I couldn’t stop staring. Back in California, everything felt flat and sunburned beige stucco houses lined up in rows, their driveways spilling out onto hot pavement. But here the house felt different, like it had grown up out of the earth with the forest, like it was part of something older and quieter.
Mom’s smile only grew as she watched me take it all in. Mitchel was still doing his best to act unimpressed, shifting his skateboard from one arm to the other, but I caught the way his eyes lingered on the porch like he was already imagining dropping his board down the steps.
I pressed my forehead against the car window, the glass cool, my breath fogging it up just a little. For the first time since leaving California, I felt like maybe this move wasn’t just a change, it was the beginning of something.
So as one does when excited I rushed out the car door as fast as I could, Mitchel close behind. As we were running up the stairs, I could hear Mom yell something along the lines of slow down and be careful, but I couldn’t. Just this one time, I wanted to be reckless.
I got to the front door and pushed to swing it open. Nothing happened, of course, because it was locked. I forgot that the door would be locked as it should be.
Mitchel came up behind me and said, “What are you waiting for!” He grabbed the door handle and shoved his shoulder into it. It was still locked.
I could hear Mom and Garrett coming up the stairs behind us, laughing.
Mitchel and I stepped aside so Mom could unlock the door, Molly perched on her hip. I turned to look at Garrett and realized he was holding some of our bags. I felt bad because I was dying carrying just mine and yet he was fine plus he had some of Mitchel’s too. I moved forward to take them, but Garrett pulled back.
“Don’t worry, bud, it’s okay. Go explore the house.” He nodded toward the now open door, where Mitchel was already stepping through.
“WaIT fOR mE!” I yelled, rushing forward.
“Nice voice crack,” he laughed, walking ahead. But before we could break the boundary of the foyer, Mom screeched from deeper inside the house “Take off your shoes!” Molly’s babbles followed right after, like her own tiny echo. Mitchel and I both kicked off our shoes as fast as we could.
The second my socks hit the floor inside, I froze. The foyer felt massive, bigger than any room back home in California, with a high ceiling that made me want to tip my head all the way back just to see the top. The wood floors creaked under our weight, and even that felt special, like the house itself was saying hello. The air smelled faintly of wood polish and something floral, probably Mom’s doing.
We wandered toward the living room first, our steps echoing softly against the hardwood. Almost everything looked like it belonged to the house from the very beginning, the trim, the carved door frames, even the big stone fireplace that sat against the far wall. The furniture was newer, though, a little mismatched but cozy, the kind Mom would pick. The couch still had that crisp, just-unwrapped look, but it sat beneath windows so old I could see the faint waves in the glass.
From there behind a pocket door we peeked into the dining room, where the long table looked brand new but the chandelier above it was clearly original, its brass dulled in places and its crystals catching the light in others. The wallpaper had tiny faded patterns of vines running through it. Some spots were darker and as if there was a picture frame that used to be there, it felt like the house had a memory, and we were stepping into it.
The kitchen was the only space that felt like it had been pulled forward in time. The appliances gleamed, new fridge, new stove, but the cabinets and wide farmhouse sink looked like they’d been there forever, worn smooth by years of use. I imagined the people before us living their lives here, cooking and laughing in the exact same room, like we were just next in line.
Mom caught up with us then, Molly bouncing on her hip,“Well?” she asked, turning slowly to take in our expressions.
Mitchel shrugged, casual as ever. “Not bad.” he smiled at mom. “Not bad?” Mom scoffed, pretending to be offended. “This house is practically a dream. You should’ve seen it when we toured, my jaw hit the floor.” She adjusted Molly, who was reaching at her earnings with sticky fingers. “I thought, finally, something that feels like home.”
Garrett stepped in behind her, still carrying bags, and leaned against the doorway with a grin. “She’s underselling it. The realtor called it ‘charmingly outdated.’ Which is code for everything creaks, but hey, it hasn’t fallen down yet.” That made Mitchel snicker, and even Mom cracked a smile before she swatted his arm lightly. “It’s called character. Go put the bags upstairs please hun” she called back to Garrett who was already climbing up the stairs “Already am” he sent a warm smile down to Mom and Molly, who blew kisses back at her dad. I didn’t say anything. I just kept looking at the wallpaper, at the worn floorboards, at the way the afternoon light slanted across the rooms. California houses never felt like this, never felt so settled. It felt like the walls already knew our names.
Mom looked at Mitchel and said, “You better go get the rest of your bags before Joey claims his room!” At that cue, Mitchel bolted back to the foyer and out the front door, his footsteps thudding against the wood.
Mom turned back to me, catching me lingering with a small smile. “What do you think, Joey?”
“I love it. It’s so nice,” I blurted. But even that felt like an understatement. I didn't have time to explain just how much I really loved this house.
“Well, you better love it,” she teased, letting out a chuckle, “because this is where you’re living from now on! Now come on, let’s go upstairs and see your room.”
As we climbed to the second floor, I noticed Molly’s head slowly sinking against Mom’s shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut. When we reached the landing, I stopped in awe all over again. The hallway stretched longer than I expected, lined with doors on either side. At the far end, by a window, sat a little chair and table with a lamp.
“How many rooms are there?” I asked, still staring.
“There are five bedrooms,” Mom explained. “The master with an ensuite for me and Garrett, Molly’s nursery, then Garrett’s office, so that leaves two for you and Mitchel.”
I counted again and noticed seven doors. Before I could ask where the extra ones led, Garrett appeared from one of them, brushing his hands off. “I put all your bags in your room with the rest of your boxes,” he said.
For a second, I didn’t realize he was talking to me. When it clicked, I managed a small, awkward “thank you.” Garrett just smiled back, easy and kind.
“Hun, can you check on Mitch?” Mom said, shifting Molly slightly. “I sent him out for the rest of his stuff and he’s not back yet.” Garrett nodded wordlessly and started back down the stairs.
“Now,” Mom said, her hand gently rubbing Molly’s back, “shall we see your room?”
“Lead the way!” I couldn’t stop the grin stretching across my face. I hadn’t felt this happy in a long time.
Mom walked to a door and rested her hand on the knob. “So…I may have jumped the gun and painted this one,” she admitted with a smile. “I went with a nice blue. That’s still your favorite, right?”
I squeaked out a yes just as she opened the door.
“Good,” she said, stepping aside. “Because I was almost confident you’d choose this one anyway.”
Inside, my bags and boxes were stacked neatly against the wall, but I barely noticed. The room itself was perfect. The walls were painted a soft, calming blue. Two big windows stretched across from the door, with a little sconce light between them. On the left, tucked beside the entry, was a closet. I spun slowly, imagining where my bed would go, where I’d set up my desk, how the light would spill across the floor in the mornings. I was in love.
Now, I love Mitchel, but sharing a room with your older brother is rough. Once, when I was eight and he was eleven, we got into such a bad fight that he taped a line down the middle of our room and swore if I even set one toe past it, he’d rip my Pokémon cards to shreds. Fun times.
So this room, my own room, felt like freedom.
I turned back to Mom, who was watching me with her signature smile, the one that meant she knew exactly what I was feeling without me saying a word. Downstairs, I could hear the muffled sound of Garrett and Mitchel talking, their voices carrying as they started making their way up to join us.
Once Mitchel had seen and “picked” his room, even though he really only had one choice, Mom said she was going to put Molly down for a nap and then try to take one herself.
That left me, Mitchel, and Garrett to set up the rooms, and we got to work quickly. We started with mine, since I had less stuff than Mitchel. Garrett and Mitchel began putting together my bed, a nice, quaint twin size while I started putting my clothes away.
I could hear the soft thud of wood against wood as Garrett tightened bolts, Mitchel handing him the pieces like some kind of assistant. “Hand me the side rail,” Garrett would say, and Mitchel would groan like he was being asked to move mountains. “Slave labor,” he muttered at one point, and when Garrett gave him a look, Mitchel grinned and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll send Joey the bill later.”
I rolled my eyes from the dresser, folding shirts into neat stacks. “Yeah, like you’d know how to send a bill.”
“True,” Mitchel shot back, “I’ll just take it in Pokémon cards.” I looked back and sent Mitchel a look trying my best to emulate mom, “You wouldn't dare” Garrett chuckled under his breath. By the time I tucked my last shirt into the drawer, the bed was standing in the middle of the room in between the windows, simple but solid, the kind of bed that looked like it belonged here already. Garrett patted the mattress as if testing it, then straightened up with a little nod. “That should do it.”
We all stood there for a second, looking at it like we’d built something monumental. Mitchel broke the silence, nudging me with his elbow. “So… are you going to jump on it first or should I?” I laughed hard and so did he. I took a running jump and landed on my newly built bed. Garrett shook his head, smiling. He handed me the pillow from one of the boxes and said, “There. First official setup.” I placed it down behind my head, like it meant something bigger than just a pillow on a bed. And honestly, it did.
We moved on to setting up Mitchel’s room, which took longer thanks to the endless number of posters he insisted on taping across the walls, but it was still fun. We really bonded with Garrett that day, and it helped ease the ache of moving away from Dad, the only other person we had ever lived with until now.
While we were knee-deep in Mitchel’s clothes, most of which I must say were probably not suitable for the New England weather, Mom popped in with Molly on her hip to let us know she was starting dinner. She paused, caught my eye, and told me she loved the way I’d set up my room and that she was proud of me. Before I could say anything back, Mitchel butted in, like he always does, pointing out that he had helped with my room too. Mom laughed and said she was proud of him as well, which made him grin like he’d won something.
After finally finishing with Mitchel’s room, we headed downstairs for dinner. I was starving. I hadn’t eaten anything since the airport in California and that hadn’t been much to begin with.
Sitting at the table, I felt surrounded in the best way. Mom’s laugh echoed through the whole room, Molly babbled nonsense that somehow made us all laugh or coo back, Mitchel launched into his endless stories in his never-ending quest to seem cool, and Garrett watched with those steady eyes that made you feel seen and heard like dads should, as well as tossing in a few dad jokes he’d clearly memorized just to impress us. For the first time in a long time, our family felt complete.
Once dinner was done, the jet lag caught up to me, and I crashed straight into a heavy, dreamless sleep. And remember when this was about dreams? That night was the only night I didn’t dream of the Victorian Lady. The. Only. Night. The only night she didn’t find me and chase after me like I was a gazelle and she was the lion.
The next day was a blur. To be honest, I don’t remember much of it, other than still putting the finishing touches on my room while Mitchel went off to explore Pelk some more. But I do remember that night, the first night I had the dream. The one I’ve already told you about, so no need to go over it again. Safe to say, though, it happened again. And again.
Always the same dream: her chasing me, me waking up like I’d just run a mile, my chest burning, sweat clinging to me, and no way to fall back asleep. It didn’t take long before the no sleep started showing. By the end of that first week, I was dragging myself through the days with heavy steps. I was finally in a place where I belonged and these dreams which were nightmares now stopped any peace I could have. Mom asked if I was feeling sick when she noticed the dark circles under my eyes. Mitchel caught me nodding off at the table and smacked my arm just to laugh when I jolted awake. Even Garrett gave me that concerned look once or twice, like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
I felt like a ghost in my own body, awake, but not really living.
It all came to a head about a week after moving in. After dinner, I started helping Mom with the dishes. My arms felt so heavy it was like I was lifting bricks, and my legs moved like they were wooden posts. While I was putting away some bowls, Mom put a hand on my shoulder and gently turned me to face her.
“Hey, hun,” she said, a sad smile tugging at her lips. “I know you were really excited to move here, but if you’re feeling like it’s too much…” She trailed off, eyes searching mine.
It took my foggy brain a moment to catch up, to understand what she was really asking. When it clicked, I blurted out too quickly, “Oh oh no! It’s fine, Mom, I swear.” I tried to laugh, though it came out nervous. “I’m just… having some trouble sleeping, that’s all.”
Mom’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Well, do you know why?” But before I could even get a word out, she added, “Maybe it’s because you’re on your phone too much before bed.” Mom turned back before I could say anything else. I almost told her about the dreams, it was right there on the tip of my tongue, but the thought of being dismissed made me swallow it down.
“Maybe if you go outside for a walk before bed, you’ll tire yourself out and sleep better?” Mom said as she moved back to the big sink, rolling up her sleeves to finish the dishes. “You know, I had to do that when your brother was a baby—”
Before she could drift into one of her Mitchel stories, I cut in quickly. “You know, Mom… I think I’ll go for a walk now.” Mom gave me a warm smile. “I think it’ll be good for you. Just be back before dark.”
I headed down the hallway toward the foyer to grab my shoes. I really didn’t feel like walking all the way into town, the new house sat further out than the apartment ever had. Still, once I stepped outside, the cool air did clear my head a little, even if the tiredness still clung to my bones like weight I couldn’t shake.
I stood on the edge of the front lawn for a moment, looking around. The forest pressed close around the house, dark and untouched, with the last glimmers of sun peeking through. Mitchel had only bothered to learn the route into town, and Garrett admitted he hadn’t ventured into the woods at all, even though he’d lived here longer than us.
So I made up my mind. I wouldn’t walk to town and back, I'd explore the uncharted forest instead. And that’s what led me to the first person I ever told about my dreams.
I want to blast my music till I’m deaf in my ears,
Till the words in my head are drowned by the pumping, thumping of instruments, till the yelling around me subsides, and the home falls quiet.
I want the music to consume me, to revolve inside me till I’m blue in the face and deaf in the ears. I want to swill and swish my mind full of the captivating voices of long-dead musicians and their cohorts.
I want to be fully enveloped, wrapped in tight by music,
Nothing much happened,
not really.
No passports stamped,
no big adventures,
just the hum of the AC and
Menial, unchanging days.
The summer passed
like a lazy breeze.
No big trips,
no family chaos,
no checklists or alarms.
And I liked it.
I wandered new sidewalks
with no map in mind,
let my feet find their way
past mailboxes,
blooming yards,
and silent porches.
The local library sat in a slump,
books scattered like thoughts.
I gave it order,
spine by spine,
quiet work for no audience.
just the scent of old pages
and a small sense of pride.
I read.
I read like it was something sacred.
Books became worlds I lived in.
Time didn’t matter.
We swam in the lake
On a whim, no schedule, no rush,
Just water splashes and laughter that echoed.
My grandmother and I drove with no destination.
Just us and the rhythm of the road.
We talked,
of what was,
what is,
what might be.
No headlines,
no photos for albums.
Just moments,
stacked quietly like
folded laundry.
I’ve run and I’ve run,
From everyone and everything,
From past sins and hollow dreams,
From all night to all day,
Now here I lay
In a puddle of my own blood and sorrow,
Knowing I won’t see tomorrow.
They came shooting ‘round the corner,
I knew then I was a goner,
Still, with iron will and my steed I ran,
Not knowing what will heed
Just me, my sins, and my wild steed.
They chased and they chased,
Spurred by justice, maybe pride
Their voices echoed through the pines,
"Turn around, there’s nowhere to hide!"
I tore through the forest, dodging roots,
I deiced to go on foot, in old leather boots.
Goodbye to my steed and old friend,
As the trees gave way to the cliff's dead end.
There, on the edge, I faced the setting sun,
A bleeding red, for all the things I’d done.
Wind whispering stories I never told,
Regrets like shadows, heavy and old.
I breathed in the dusk, the earth and sky,
I watched the hawks above me fly.
And only then did I feel the sting,
A burning shot beneath my wing.
Blood seeped slow, a creeping truth,
The price of fire and a reckless youth.
I fell to my knees, hat clutched tight,
Watching the horizon swallow light.
No cell, no rope, no courtroom sly
Just the sky above and a man who’d die.
I smiled at the chase, the ride, the thrill
The life I chose, and now the grave that will fill.
I’ve run and I’ve run,
But the end always finds you, son.
And now here I lay,
At the edge of the day,
In a puddle of my own blood and sorrow
Knowing I won’t see tomorrow.
Wash yourself all over me,
As we tumble down this hill.
Intertwine yourself to me as I unwind for you
Your love is worn on your skin, and in your eyes.
You bring me to my boiling point,
waves of red roll off me,
crashing into you like heat seeking calm.
My heart floats in your ocean of blue,
buoyant, beating, born again into your tide.
Dip yourself into my dimples
and I will slide myself down your curls,
each twist a secret path to you.
You pull the sun,
while I move the moon.
You'll draw while I paint,
your lines hold my color,
your stillness frames my storm.
I'll melt into your shadow
as you burn into my light.
Speak to me in silhouettes,
touch me in tones,
and I will echo your name
in every hush between heartbeats.
Let the hill take us,
hands tangled, feet wrapped
until the sky runs out of blue,
and time forgets our names.
